Chapter 1: Bakers Boy
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick.
Time is a vengeful god.
The ticking of a clock… to some it’s merely a grim reminder of the slow, unending passage of time, a reminder of what they must endure, or a countdown to what they will enjoy. Everything that time gives is to eventually be requisitioned once again. It’s an inevitable fact of reality and like many things in these universes it’s both horrible, and beautiful. However, to me, at this very moment, it was the lone reminder of my presence in the tangible world.
I sat, my hand dancing across the canvas in its chaotically articulate movements, intertwining with the tick, tock, tick, tock, bringing the conception of my mind to fruition. My full concentration was on my devices. The only feeling, besides the emotions of my subconscious flowing onto the canvas, was the warmth of the late-afternoon sun as its radiant rays cast iridescent hues of orange and seemingly boundless shadows across the room.
Some might call that image beautiful. To me, it was just a regular afternoon.
I sat upon my stool in the middle of the room, the canvas being my only focus as it rest upon its stand in front of me. My room itself was quaint, my slightly too small bed sat in the corner below the circular window that was inlayed into the stone wall. A dresser and a small desk for studying and writing were in the other corner. A dry quill and stacks of used parchments were scattered about them, though all of this around me was currently mute to my senses as I painted.
I personally have a very loose technique when it comes to my painting. For many, the difficulty of painting, once the idea of your final product has been established, is that the mind has great difficulty holding an image long enough for one to be able to transfer it to the canvas. It’s why so many people will just take an image and copy it for their artwork. As well, with my living in the city of Manehattan I don’t get very much scenery of my fondness to paint. To fix this, I simply allow the manacles of my mind to drag my hand across the canvas whichever way it pleases until I am satisfied.
Not to say that my work looks like something that came out of a child’s finger painting class. No, no. I simply work on an image my mind presents me until it is lost. Then as more appear, I copy them as well. These multiplying images seem to mend together on my canvas, almost as if they’re growing out from where I began painting. It works much like the way the minds ideas can slowly run astray. For example, in painting I’m currently working on, a craggy mountain ascends from a dark desolate plane. As it rises, it morphs into the form of a bonsai tree that is quickly being devoured by flames. The light of the flames creates elongated shadows across the rocks akin to the current hues that adorned my room.
I have to say it is one of my better paintings, if not my best.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
My handed ceases it’s movements as my cogitation is broken by the light tapping on my door. I removed my brush from the canvas, gingerly setting it back upon its palette.
“Come in.” I say, my broad voice creating the slightest of echoes within the confines of the stone walled room. The wooden door gave a slight creek as it opened, and the sound of hoofsteps entered the room. I turn from my work, smiling as my gaze meets an aging mare’s serene blue eyes. The wrinkles in her face showed how she was most certainly getting along in her years. She had a plump figure with a golden brown coat the color of perfectly cooked bread. Her curly silver mane was wrapped in a bun, a duller grey stipe of age trialing through it and her cutie mark was that of a cinnamon roll. To finish it off, she wore her usual cooking smock, the occasional stain of flour or dough showing through from a hard day’s work.
“Hello Nanny, is something wrong?” I inquire while raising an eyebrow, her impromptu checkup not going unnoticed.
“Hello Theo, oh there’s nothing the matter dear. I’d just like to talk with you about something in the kitchen for a minute.” She answers with a smile. Her gaze travels over to the canvas I was working on. “Oh my, Theo that looks wonderful. Is it ready to be put on display yet?”
“Not just yet,” I replied, looking over my canvas with a critical eye. “I think there are a few more touch-ups I should make. I think the sky needs some filling and the shadows and rays need their contrasts mixed more.” Nanny looked over it for a few more seconds, nodding in approval at my ideas before smiling and continuing.
“Anyways, I’ll let you clean up. Just meet me at the table dear.” She steped out, gently closing the door behind her.
I stood, picking up my brush and palette and walking across the room where I set them in a small vat of water. I began thinking to myself as I scrubbed the paint off my implements.
I wonder what Nanny is going on about? She doesn’t usually pop in like this.
Obviously, my mind began jumping to the worst conclusions. You know the ones.
Is she fatally sick? Am I being fired after all this time?
I quickly push these thoughts from my mind before they fester. She looked healthy… enough, and I’ve been working diligently for the past five years so I doubt I would be fired out of the blue. I stepped out of my room into the familiar kitchen of the bakery. The fires from the oven were long burned out by now, but the warmth could still be felt throughout the room. With the sun having already dipped below the horizon Nanny was busy turning up the various lanterns about the room to casting a generous amount of light. I walked over to the small dining table in the other side of the room, pulling out one of the short pony chairs I took a seat, my knees coming up awkwardly to my chest as I did so. I watched Nanny as she finished turning up the last lantern.
“Al-righty, there we go.” She said with a small smile as she took a seat at the table. I drummed my fingers lightly on the old wood, waiting for her to prepare her lead.
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong Nanny?” I ask, my caution getting the better of me. Nanny let out a lighthearted chuckle, quelling my worry. I tended to worry about Nanny a lot. Nobody lives forever and as the years have passed we've grown closer, as well, I've become fearful for her in her old age.
“Oh no dear, in fact it’s much the opposite.” I give her a questioning look, signaling for her to go on.
“Well, it’s just that you've been working here for so long. Honestly, if you hadn't come out of the blue I probably wouldn't be running this little ol’ bakery.” She paused, starting to look as though she was on the verge of tears. I raise a hand to her shoulder in attempt to comfort her but she stopped me with the wave of a hoof before she continued.
“I don’t know where I’d be if you didn't raise this place from the dust. You've become like the son I never had… and I worry about you sometimes Theo, you seem so alone. You only ever leave when you need to, or to help me, and it breaks my heart to see you cooped up here so much. I shouldn't start rambling though. I’ve got you something that I hope you will enjoy.” She pulls a box out from under the table. It’s a tiny red parcel with a perfectly knotted golden ribbon on top. She passes it over. Curiously, I lift the package to my ear, shaking it gently.
“What is it?” I ask, then again I already know what she’s about to~
“That’s your job to figure out!” She says, interrupting my thoughts. A smile spreads across my own face as I carefully remove the ribbon and lift the top. What it contains both excites and confuses me.
“Whoa, Wonderbolts tickets.” I said in surprise, holing them up and inspecting them. They were both A floor seating, the top and most expensive to get. My surprise quickly turned into curiosity as I looked back at Nanny.
“You wanted to see a Wonderbolts game with me?” I asked, expecting her to laugh and confirm my suspicions, however her eyes became sad as she spoke.
“Actually Theo, I was hoping that you would find someone else to take with you.”
Wait. Is she telling me to go get a marefriend or something?
“It doesn’t have to be a marefriend or anything," Nanny quickly said, looking slightly flustered. "I just would like to see you go out and spend time doing something with somepony for real. I know how much beauty you’re able to create on your own, but you need to go and experience more of the world yourself before your old like me.” She finished with a short laugh. I picked up one of the tickets, looking at the inscriptions while constructing my next words.
“But who should I go with? I don’t exactly have many… friends.” In fact, I didn't have any friends, the only times I left the house were for groceries or collecting the weeks firewood, in fact I've spent most of the last five years in my room writing or painting. My life may be a bit sheltered, but I believed that I was contempt with it. Nanny smiled at me.
“That’s your job to figure out, and if you can’t find anypony just go and enjoy the show yourself. I won’t be disappointed.” I looked at Nanny, seeing the sincerity in her eyes I placed the tickets back into the box and closed it.
“Alright. Thanks Nanny, I’ll try my best.” The old mare stood on her slightly shaky hooves.
“Good. Now then, tomorrow’s another big day, wood restocking day, no?” She asked, I nodded. Sunday was the day where I went out of town to restock the firewood for the bakery’s oven in the coming week. “Go and get some sleep dear.” I got up and walked over to my room door. Looking back I saw Nanny turning the lights back down.
“Nanny?” The mare looked over. “You know you didn't have to get me such expensive tickets.” She smiled as she looked up at me.
“It’s no problem dearie, if it weren't for you I wouldn't have those extra bits to spend. Just try to have some fun when you go to that game and I’ll be happy!” I nodded with a smile, turning I stepped into my room. Closing the door behind me, I stripped off my shirt and pants, tossing them into the corner. I hopped into the slightly too small bed. A sigh escaped me as I nestled into the familiar sheets.
Though, as I lay there my thoughts turned back towards the tickets.
How the heck am I supposed to make a friend in a week?
I wasn't much of a socialite, especially in this world considering my appearance. Not that many ponies discriminated. I could walk down the street just fine and would only receive stares and nervous glances. I didn't receive much unwanted attention either. Ponies just seemed to chock me up to another anomaly in their weird and wacky world. I also knew how to deal with any who were curious. However, making a friend seems like a daunting task, especially so in a big city. The only friends I've had are long gone by now, and five years of this semi-seclusion hasn't done me any good.
Thinking about that put steel in my resolve. I understand Nanny's reasoning behind wanting me to do this. Most of my days and nights are spent in my room writing or painting. My work kept me satisfied, but was I happy? I always tried to act positively to the world around me, but was it merely a facade so that I would fit in?
I rolled over in my bed, by thoughts making me depressed as I was flooded with unwanted memories. I looked up out the window, the light of the moon streaming through it and into my room creating a world of shadows. I tilted my head up, looking out at the stars and moon looming over the city in their unending cycle. The small but beautiful view brought me some peace as I redirected my thoughts.
I guess I could maybe hit up a bar and try to find someone to take with me, though if they learn about the first class Wonderbolts tickets I’m carrying well… that makes everyone your friend. Maybe I could ask one of the regulars to the bakery? Many of them are used to seeing me and some are quite nice to talk to, though asking them if they would like to see a game with me would be rather weird. I want the person, er, pony that I invite to be legitimate. I also don’t want a mare to think I’m asking them out on a date, cross off sixty to seventy percent of the population there. I’m just not interested in a relationship currently.
Though my thoughts were not to last as I drifted out of the land of the living, sleep temporarily cooling the crucible of my thoughts, though I knew the morning would only stoke the fires.
